


Where One Does Not Belong

by Nonexistentrose



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Injury, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistentrose/pseuds/Nonexistentrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Riordan sacrificed himself to deal the final blow to the Archdemon, that doesn't mean Grey Warden Ariadne's adventures with her party are quite over. As they explore the Deep Roads on a simple retrieval mission, she gets struck with a pair of poisoned arrows and it's up to Alistair, Zevran, and Morrigan to pull their leader out and into safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where One Does Not Belong

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Dragon Age or any of it's characters. No matter how much I want to own Alistair, it cannot be so.  
> Wait for me my darling Alistair! I'll come for you some day!  
> Ahem, without further ado...

               “We’ve been down here for days,” Ariadne muttered, trying not to complain and failing. She was a Grey Warden after all, but she was also a Dalish elf and did not belong far beneath the Frostback Mountains in the Deep Roads of Orzammar. These were the lost thaigs of the dwarves, beneath rocks with a ceiling over their heads all their lives. This was no place for elves. The only familiar part about the Deep Roads were the intermittent hordes of darkspawn, but after all the party’s time beneath the stone, even the clang of steel on steel and the twang of bowstrings was losing its luster.

               Giant spiders were a nuisance and the small groups of darkspawn had become a bother rather than a threat. Spiders used to be respectful, docile creatures back in the forest when she hunted with her clan. The only killed those necessary for their survival and did not bother the Dalish unless in self-defense. These corrupted eight legged creatures in the deep roads were different. They fought to fight and killed for pleasure. They were tainted and twisted and Ariadne was sick of seeing their spindly legs sprint towards her as she pulled another arrow from her quiver.

               She had never been a big fan of the suppressive nature of caves, but they had never quite gotten to her as her days in Orzammar did. She longed for the blue skies and green trees with the wind blowing softly through her long auburn red hair. Ariadne was reminded not for the first time of her clan, her Dalish brothers and sisters and her Keeper, Marethari. Memories of her elvhen brethren drifted through her mind in painful sequences, Tamlen in particular. Tamlen had been claimed by the darkspawn taint held in a corrupted Eluvian back before she had even become a Grey Warden. It felt like such a long time ago and yet it hurt like it had happened yesterday. She longed to see him one last time, but more and more, parts friend were already lost in the darkness of unrecoverable memories. She still blamed herself for his death, she always had. It was her fault he was lost and she was sent on to continue living.

               She had never told anyone of her old clanmate. In fact, she had not told them much of anything about her past; not her clan nor her recruitment. She had not even told Alistair, the only other Grey Warden in their party and now one of her closest friends, after all they had been through together. The only ones who knew anything in depth of her past were Duncan and her Dalish clan, both of which were long gone by now. They, however, hadn’t been with Tamlen as it happened. They hadn’t seen what she saw when Tamlen’s curiosity got the better of him and ended in his death. They weren’t at fault for not pulling him away from the mirror or stopping them from approaching it altogether. They didn’t miss him like she did.

               And the painful memories of her clan weren’t the only memories the deep roads brought Ariadne. The nightmarish scenes of their last visit to Orzammar, searching for Branka, also plagued her.

               She felt the pressure of a gentle hand on her shoulder and was pulled from her thoughts.

               “Are you alright?” Alistair’s concerned voice drifted through the still air of the underground.

               _No,_ She wished to say, _I am not alright._ The flashbacks of the trenches and what the darkspawn had done to Branka’s family, what Branka had done to her own, made her darkspawn nightmares feel as frightening as the simple nervousness of an elvhen child’s first lesson in training. What had happened down in these thaigs and crossroads was a whole new level of horrifying that haunted her as they trekked through caves that threatened to swallow her. She was far from alright, but they didn’t need to know that.

               “I’m fine.” She lied, keep her eyes away from Alistairs worried expression.

               “Are you?” Zevran’s smooth accented voice asked, “She looks paler than usual, no?” Ariadne scowled at the ground, not wanting anything to slow them down on their assigned mission to retrieve a lost sword from the likely dead husband of a noble woman. The sooner they were finished, the sooner they could leave, and Zevran’s eye for details would do nothing but draw attention to her. Attention she certainly didn’t want nor need.

               Morrigan shrugged at Zevran’s observation, but she too felt a small pinch of worry for her elvhen friend. Despite her isolated upbringings, she and Ariadne had gotten on quite well. Unlike Alistair, Ariadne enjoyed the mage’s advice and friendship, however skewed it might be depending on the situation. Even if they were friends, however, Morrigan still felt she needed to hide her concern.

               Alistair, however, didn’t bother to hide it and continued to press. “Yes, Zevran is right. Are you sure you’re okay? We can stop and rest for a while if you need to.”

               “No!” Ariadne exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. Alistair jerked his hand a few inches off her shoulder in surprise. She hadn’t meant to shout, but the thought of spending any more time in the hell hole that was the deep roads was just too much to bear.

               “Sorry, I mean, let’s just find that sword and get out of here.”

               It wasn’t just the deep roads that drove Ariadne to the brink, but the entirety of Orzammar. It was too dark, the magma too hot and the flames too red. It made her feel smothered, but it was likely that after they found the sword and left, her party members would feel it a fine idea to stay in an inn for a few nights before departing for the surface. The very thought made her want to scream.”

               “If you’re feeling unwell, ‘tis wiser for you to rest than push yourself to exertion.” Morrigan spoke matter-of-factly. “That woman has waited nearly a year for this sword, she may wait longer if that is what troubles you.” However, the look in Morrigan’s eyes suggested she knew at least a part of the Warden’s inner torment from these dark passages.

               “No,” Ariadne repeated, removing the previous desperation from her tone, “I’m perfectly fine. We’re nearly there, we must press on.”

               Morrigan shrugged and feigned disinterest, Zevran looked skeptical, and worry continuously clouded Alistair’s eyes, but none of them questioned their leader’s authority. Ariadne held her head up and picked up a swifter pace while the other three fell in step.

               It wasn’t long before they came across another horde of darkspawn once again, which was no surprise. It was an ugly mass of Genlocks and Hurlocks that had not yet spotted Ariadne and her party creeping around the corner. She motioned for her friends to be ready and they silently drew their weapons while she readied her first arrow, carefully aiming it towards a nearby Hurlock head. Her eyes fluttered closed for but a moment, relaxing her body and calming her agitated mind. A grin spread smoothly across her lips. The thrill of the hunt never left her mind, and never would.

               Ariadne let out a gentle breath through parted lips and loosed the arrow. The shaft flew from the bow in slow motion until the next thing she knew, it was sticking out from the skull of a dying Hurlock. It let out a cry of pain before hitting the ground and the others turned around to Alistair’s war cry and Zevran’s devilish grin as he spun his deadly blades.

               Ariadne swiftly notched and loosed arrow after arrow, each hitting its mark. Standing near the back of the fray, she was able to get a full view of her enemies in range, but she had attracted the notice of several darkspawn archers. Darkspawn archers with arrows dipped in poison, which none of the party were aware of.

               Zevran and Alistair quickly wiped out the darkspawn fighting melee in the chaors with help from Morrigan and her magic while Ariadne had taken all but two of the four archers. She had much more experience when it came to archery making these long range targets much easier for her to hit than for them to hit her. She readied another arrow when  a pained cry from Alistair caused her to turn her attention away. He was facing an Alpha Hurlock and had been thrown off balance. She shot her arrow into a revealed weak spot in its thigh and the alpha slowed enough for Alistair to slice off it’s head.

               They exchanged victorious smiles, but the small victory was cut short when both the archers landed their hits as she was distracted. One landed in her right thigh and the other buried itself deep into her stomach. A cry of pain fell from her lips and she dropped to one knee, clutching the bleeding wounds. Morrigan shot a large fireball towards the archers and they were quickly dispatched into ashes. The battle had ended.


	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran manages to patch up Ariadne as best as he can at the moment and as the party members rush her out of the Deep Roads, Alistair reflects on his past with this reserved Dalish elf.

               “Ariadne!” Alistair exclaimed when he saw she had been taken down. Sprinting towards her, he sheathed his sword still coated in darkspawn blood. Zevran was not far behind.

               The poison burned through her veins like the magma that flowed through Orzammar and Ariadne gritted her teeth against the pain. She was hunched over her injuries and Alistair had to force her hands away from the wounds himself. He laid her down on the cold stone of the ground while she twisted in agony.

               “We need to remove the arrows.” Alistair said urgently, but Zevran stopped him.

               “Wait, these are not simple arrows; they would not cause this much pain. They must be poisoned.”

               “Well you’re a poison-making, assassin whatever! Do something!”

               Zevran crouched down next to her, first inspecting the wounds, then beginning to remove her armor. Alistair caught his wrist, but Zevran shook it off, knowing what had passed through Alistair’s mind. However, their leader’s privacy was not the top priority with her life on the line. Once she was down to her undershirt and leggings underneath her armor, he tore openings in the cloth around the two arrow shafts to get a better look at the wounds. Zevran bent down to sniff the poisoned wounds then pulled back with a grimace. “Some sort of crude mixture I don’t recognize. I do detect a small hint of deathroot extract, however.”

               “ _Death_ root?” Alistair’s face was a mixture of disbelief and utter despair as he cradled Ariadne’s head carefully in his lap. She had gone from writhing to violent shivering, still barely conscious but with her eyes tightly shut. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, trying not to move them into Zevran’s way. Sweat poured down her skin despite the cool rock she laid upon. Her breath came in short whimpers and the pain was everywhere in her body and veins, so hot it felt as though it had frozen her blood. She coughed several times and blood spotted her lips, dripping from the corners of her mouth.

               “There’s not much of the deathroot in it, but I can’t identify the rest of the mix.”

               “So these are the _lessened_ effects?” Alistair’s voice trembled with concern, it didn’t seem possible with all the pain it seemed to be causing her.

               “Yes, concentrated deathroot is much worse and always fatal. This is much weaker and our Warden is strong. She has a much better chance to survive.” Zevran tried to assure Alistair and Ariadne, if she was still managing to listen, but he was mostly trying to convince himself. She was strong, she would survive, right? She had to survive. How could they go on without their leader? Without their friend?

               “What about magic? Where the hell is Morrigan!?”

               “No,” Zevran shook his head, “Magic will do little good against poison and Morrigan is no healer. Our only hope is to remove these arrows and keep the wounds clean. It is up to our Warden to cleanse herself of the poison. Hold her down while I pull the arrows out.” Zevran instructed.

               Of all things, Ariadne felt herself missing Zevran’s playful flirty tone he usually bore. The seriousness dampened the mood. And Alistair, she missed his jokes. She wanted him to goof off again. Why was there so much pain coursing through her? She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the situation any longer. The pain was turning to numb and she began losing feeling in her legs. It felt almost nice, like being dipped in warm water.

               Suddenly, Zevran yanked out the first arrow and the pain returned tenfold. She shrieked, jerking involuntarily against Alistair’s strong hold. Tears sprouted from her eyes and all she could manage to think was that she didn’t want the other arrow out. She tried to form words through her trembling lips, to tell Zevran to leave the second arrow in, but all that came out was a string of slurred “no’s”, hardly discernible from a moan.

               Alistair long to take her in his arms, to take away all her pain, but he continued to hold her steady as the Antivan elf went for the second arrow. Ariadne didn’t scream the second time, she couldn’t. She could only whimper and try to steady her breathing, which was difficult enough as it was.

               “We need to get her out of here,” Alistair urged once the second arrow was out and Zevran was wrapping bandages around the bloody holes.

               “Sword…!” Ariadne choked out and both were surprised to find her still conscious let alone listening.

               “You mean this sword?” Morrigan’s unexpected voice came from behind and a clatter as she dropped the sword they had been searching for at her feet.

               “Where have you been?” Alistair snapped angrily.

               “Finishing our job so our Warden’s death will not have been for naught.” She replied coldly.

               “She’s not going to die!”

               “Nothing last forever.” Morrigan said, her voice quiet but hard, and Alistair did not respond. Once Zevran had finished some temporary bandages, Alistair lifted her limp body into his arms.

               “Can we get back fast enough? It took us days to get this far.”

               “That was fighting darkspawn and being led by Ariadne’s sense of direction. Going back will be much faster.” Zevran assured him.

               It was true Ariadne’s sense of direction was poor at best. She had a talent for getting lost anywhere even with a map. She always said that in the forest, the starts and the trees would always guide her wherever she needed to go, and sure enough she could always manage to find herself through a forest, but when it came to caves or even buildings, she was utterly hopeless.

               Zevran led the way, dashing forward to check for any darkspawn stragglers the hadn’t fully cleared out, only returning a few times with a blade covered in blood. Alistair was greatly distracted by Ariadne’s body in his arms. He cradled her gently like she was but a sleeping child that was to be protected, rather than the fierce warrior he had fought beside time after time. She had always been there for him whether it be saving him in the midst of a battle or just listening to him when he found himself thinking of Duncan’s death or the Wardens before Ostagar.

               She would always listen, and you could see in her eyes that she cared whether they were filled with pain, fascination, or something far beyond the trivialities of sympathy. She knew all about him, his past as a Templar in the Chantry, raised by Arl Eamon and the bastard child of the late king. He would tell her anything if she asked, and he could see her enjoyment through her green eyes. Those were the only was he could ever tell what she was feeling; even if prodded Ariadne would never tell you herself. That is, you could see only if you could catch her eyes long enough to read them.

               Ariadne was quite most of the times and perhaps a bit too independent. She hated asking for help no matter how much pain or trouble she was in. She never talked about herself; she wasn’t stoic like Sten, but merely reserved. When he thought about it, Alistair realized he knew nothing of this girl he held in his arms. Only that he loved her company, her laugh however rare, the awkward grin she wore when she looked up from her map for the 6th time and would shrug “We’re lost!”.

               He recalled one night when he had been unable to sleep and slipped out of his tent to find her sitting quietly on a stump, staring far into the bright stars of the night sky. He had sat next to her; she had already registered his presence but made no move to show it.

               “Darkspawn nightmares?” He had guessed, knowing the horrors of these that came with being a Grey Warden, but she shook her head silently, never taking her eyes off the stars. So he stared with her. Unexpectedly, it was she that spoke, quiet but clear into the undisturbed night.

               “The Keeper used to point out a line of starts in the night sky and tell me if I was ever lost and needed to find home, I only had to follow them. I guess she never expected me to wander so far from home.” Her eyes were sorrowful but bright with the reminiscence of childhood memories.

               Alistair had figured she had been in a clan with a Keeper, she was Dalish after all, but she had never mentioned her home before. He nearly made a joke about her poor sense of direction, but figured it wasn’t exactly a good time to be joking. She continued.

               “Tamlen and I used to look up at the stars at night when we were children and pretend they formed the shapes of the Dalish Keepers of old watching over us. He always did love those stories.”

               “Tamlen?” Alistair had asked, not recognizing the name. She hadn’t responded and her eyes filled with mournful sorrow.

               “Are you alright?”

               “Fine.” She said, turning her eyes away and standing, “Just tired. Goodnight, Alistair.”

               “Wait!” He jumped to his feet, catching her wrist. She turned to look at him. “If you want, after this is all over I mean, we could go, y’know, visit your clan if you’d like. If they don’t try to kill me or anything.”

               She gave a weak, sad smile and broke eye contact, “Thanks, but… they’ll be long gone by now.”

               She had pulled her hand away from Alistair’s and silpped into her tent without another word. He was still unsure of what she’d meant by long gone, but the subject was never brought up again. That was before Riorden had sacrificed himself to slay the Archdemon. 


	3. Dreams to Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariadne has been brought safely from the Deep Roads, but plagued by nightmares, physical safety isn't the first thing on her mind.

Ariadne and Alistair had been regarded as the Heroes of Ferelden for assisting in the slaying of the Archdemon and now they, and Morrigan and Zevran, worked together out in the field.

               However, their number swung in the balance with Ariadne’s life on the line. They continued to sprint through the twists and turns of the Deep Roads, and while they ran, she began to dream.

               It was unlike any dream she had experienced before; more vivid than the dreams before the Joining, but it did not seem to be about darkspawn. She was back in her Dalish clan in their old camp. Her Keeper, Marethari, was there, smiling and holding her arms out, welcoming her home.

               “Aneth ara, Da’len.” She said, her voice warm and gentle as Ariadne had always remembered it. She felt tears of joy begin to bud on the corners of her eyes at the sight of her Keeper and took a step towards her when an all too familiar voice turned her head.

               “Lethallan, you’ve returned! I missed you!” Tamlen’s smiling face was running towards her. She looked him over incredulously; Tamlen was supposed to be… dead. She had seen him touch the Eluvian, but then… she had never found his body. No one had.

               But she couldn’t debate it any longer; Tamlen enveloped her in a tight embrace and she couldn’t help but smile as she was pressed against his warm chest.

               “Aneth ara, Tamlen. I missed you too.” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. He did not respond, however, and she stepped back in confusion when his arms when slack around her. The smile on his face had disappeared and he stared straight ahead, a blankness clouding his eyes.

               “Ar tu na’din. Ar tu na’lin emma mi.” He spoke in Dalish, his voice monotone and haunting. _I will kill you. I will see your blood on my blade._

               “T-Tamlen?” She took another step away from him and watched as the color drained from his body. His eyes slowly rolled back into their sockets until she could see nothing but their whites and his skin began to rot and droop at a disturbingly unnatural pace. He resembled a rotting corpse and his neck and shoulders twisted brokenly. She glanced around to see the same thing happening to the rest of her clanmates as they stared at her. Tamlen took a slow step forwards and Ariadne, in turn, took a step back. He spoke again through a hoarse raspy voice that did not sound his own.

               “Ema shem’nan. Halam sahlin.” _My revenge is swift. This ends now._

               “N-No, Tamlen! Please!”

               “Ma emma harel.” _You should fear me._  He slowly drew his blade from its sheathe and continued his hostile approach until Ariadne’s back hit a tree. The rest of the clan drew their weapons as well.

               “Please, Tamlen, I don’t want to hurt you! Please!” She begged.

               “It is your fault. It is your fault for my death. It is your fault and I shall have my revenge.”

               “T-Tamlen, no! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t want you to die! I wanted to save you!”

               The ghoul that Tamlen had become ignored her and lifted his blade. Hers still remained in it’s sheathe.

               “Ma halam.” _You are finished._

               Two solitary tears fell from her eyes as she whispered one last phrase, knowing she could never bear to raise a blade against him, no matter what happened. “Ma emma lath, emma uhenan’ara. Ma’arlath.” _You are my love, my heart’s desire. I love you._

               Her confession did not seem to faze this creature. “Sahlin ma’nan.” _This moment is my revenge._ “Prepare to die for your treachery, Lethallan.” He raised his sword to split her skull and she looked desperately into his white eyes to find Tamlen, but found nothing.

               With a shout, he brought down his weapon.

               Ariadne woke screaming, covered in a cold sweat. Zevran, who had been sitting quietly at a table in the corner sipping wine, jumped in surprise, spilling his drink. They were no longer in the Deep Roads, but at an Inn in Orzammar. Tears were spilling involuntarily from her eyes as she mumbled in Dalish, “Abelas, abelas, abelas… Din’eth, Lethallin. Abelas, abelas…”

               Zevran rushed to her side at once, sitting on her bed and wrapping her trembling body warmly in his arms without hesitation. She made no move to push him away. He whispered softly in his warm accent, calming her from her night terror and gently quieting her Dalish mumblings. He carefully guided strands of hair out of her face and felt her forehead; still warm but noticeably less than it had been. The worse was over; she had defeated the poison and was now on the smooth slope of recovery.

               Ariadne didn’t exactly feel all that wonderful, however. Her body was weak all over and her right thigh and stomach had a consistent pain that inflamed drastically when she moved. She was also ravenous to the point of a sickly feeling in her stomach in addition to the arrow that had pierced it.

               Despite this, she could focus on nothing but the effects of the nightmare she had woken from. She was only just beginning to notice the warm comforting presence of Zevran’s arms around her and her Dalish mumblings to her dead clanmate were soothed to silence. She brought her eyes to his, searching for something she could never find and Zevran could not identify.

               “Tamlen? N-No, Zevran. I’m… sorry.”

               “You have nothing to apologize for,” He comforted. “Are you feeling better?”

               She huffed, “Physically? I suppose I’m better than I was when you were tearing arrows out of my body.”

               He gave a sly smile, “A necessary pain, but I am sorry nevertheless.”

               “But as for mentally…” She trailed off and looked away.

               “Was is one of the darkspawn nightmares Alistair talks about?”

               “No, it was different. Sort of.” She felt childish discussing nightmares like a little girl running to her mother, frightened by nothing but an unreal machination of the mind. During the Blight it was different; she and Alistair used their dreams to gather information about the rough size and strength of the darkspawn army. But to talk of nightmares in a way that showed her fear made her feel weak, embarrassed. And yet she felt a pull towards Zevran, she wanted to tell him about it.

               Tamlen use to talk about his dreams when they hunted together. He had once told her she was the only one he told about them, the only one he felt he could. It made her feel special, but those times felt so long ago.

               “Sort of?” Zevran cocked his head to the side in curiosity, a movement that always reminded her of a bird, a crow to be exact. She’d never tell him that, though.

               “It was my clan, but they had turned into ghouls. They looked like bodies possessed by darkspawn but… they knew things. They knew things a darkspawn wouldn’t.”

               Zevran spoke carefully, knowing he was treading unstable ground with his questions, “What sort of things?”

               Her demeanor shifted at his question. To what, he was not entirely sure. Perhaps sorrow or guild, maybe both.

               “Things I have done. Or more accurately, something I did not. Something I should have done.”

               He was going to press her to be a little less vague when Alistair walked into the room and gave them a suspicious glance at the sight of Ariadne wrapped in Zevran’s arms. She blushed furiously and tried to push away from him, but only succeeded in bringing more pain to her wounds. She winced and clutched her stomach. Alistair’s suspicion was replaced with concern as he quickly set the bag he brought on a table and ran to her side.

               “When did she wake up? Have you changed her bandages?” He asked Zevran, but before he could respond, Ariadne cut in.

               “Do not speak of me as if I am not here. I only woke a few minutes ago. As for the bandages… well, I’ll manage. How long was I asleep?”

               “Three days. We’re at an inn in Orzammar if you didn’t know already by the stone.”

               “That would explain the hunger.” She mumbled to herself. “And Morrigan? Where is she?”

               “For all I know, she could be competing in the Proving.” He grumbled, mostly to himself. “Oh, if you’re hungry, I’d just gone out to get food.” He pulled a small loaf of bread and a flask of water from the bag and handed them to her. She ate and drank slowly, careful not to upset the fragile state of her body no matter how much she wanted to devour it.

               “So how are you feeling?” Alistair asked. He thought of the days and nights he had remained by her side as she slept; her body ravaged by poison and her dreams twisting her face into tortured expressions. It killed him to not have been there when she woke up, but he didn’t say anything.

               She now turned her face away, her mind alight with a mixture of embarrassment and still lingering guilt and fear. She said nothing and a moment of tense silence passed between them before Zevran broke it. “Your bandages need to be changed. Would you like it to be Alistair or me to do it?”              

               Ariadne blushed at the thought of either of them changing her bandages and the knowledge that they had likely done so while she had slept.

               “No, no. That’s alright. I can live without changing them.”

               “You’ve barely survived the poison and the arrows. We don’t need an infection to push it over the edge.” Zevran spoke sensibly, but she felt she’d rather get infected than let one of them help her.

               “Then give me the bandages, I’ll do it myself.” She huffed, trying to stand herself up; a both awkward and embarrassing attempt as she clutched the bedpost to pull her weak body up from the bed. She couldn’t help but wince as the two injuries burned like mad with her muscles still weak from the poison. Alistair instinctively reached out to help her, but she slapped his hands away.

               “Don’t touch me.” She snapped, regretting the words as the tumbled from her mouth. Zevran held out the clean bandages with a concerned but bemused expression on his face as she snatched them away, hobbling slowly to the washroom. She shut the door behind her with a loud slam.


	4. Trapped in Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst of Ariadne's battle with poison is over and now she must sit tight through recovery, however much it hurts her pride to do so.

               “Her pride will be her downfall,” Zevran sighed, munching on a piece of dried nug meat from Alistair’s bag.

               Alistair put his face in his hands, slumping down into a chair. “Maker’s breath… I muck everything up.”

               “Go talk to her then.” Zevran suggested.

               “But she could be… undressing.”

               He smirked, “And this is a bad thing? We both know no matter her pride, she’s too weak to do this on her own yet. She’ll likely injure herself further if she continues to try. However, if you are too shy to help your fellow Grey Warden then perhaps I-“

               “No, no.” Alistair interrupted, “I’ll do it. Just… I’ll do it.”

               Ariadne sat on a stone bench within the washroom clutching her stomach which had begun to bleed again. She could hardly move and wondered how she’d managed to make her way here in the first place. She held the clean bandages in one hand that rested beside her, but she was too weak to even hope to put them on. There was a light knock on the door.

               “Ari? It’s Alistair. Do you need help? Could I come in?”

               “N-no!” She stammered. She had shown enough weakness to Zevran, she didn’t need both men in her party thinking she was as pathetic as she felt.

               “I, um, are you sure?”

               “Yes, I’m sure! I’m fine, please go away!” Her voice wavered as she tried to convince herself as much as Alistair.

               “Can… can I come in anyway?”

               She sighed but did not answer. He continued, “I mean, well, look Ari, we’ve been traveling together a long time now and I know you think you can do everything on your own but like it or not, you can’t always be perfect. No one here expects you to be. You don’t have to be strong all the time, we know how capable you are, we bought a Blight together, for Maker’s sake! It’s not weak to accept help, so please Ari, may I come in?”

               She was quiet for a moment, thinking over what he had said before finally giving in, “Fine. You can come in.”

               He sighed quietly in relief before opening the door. “Maker’s breath…” he gasped at the sight of so much fresh blood seeping through her clothes. “Okay, okay,” he breathed, “you’re going to be alright. Can you move?”

               She shook her head and he nodded, kneeling next to her. He lifted her shirt up and over her head to work with the bleeding wound. She put up no protest. He was gentle and focused as he took the bandage off, peeling away from the dried blood as well as the fresh. It hurt but Ariadne kept a straight face throughout.

               “I’m… I’m really glad you’re okay,” Alistair began. “I mean, after you were shot and Zevran started talking about deadly poisons, I thought you would die for sure.”

               She smiled weakly, “It’ll take more than some darkspawn and their poisonous sludge to kill me.”

               He chuckled, but his face remained serious. “I just… I don’t know what I’d do without you. After Duncan died and we fought the Blight, you were the one to pull me through. I never really thanked you for that. I’m always complaining and I can’t believe it took this for me to realize I’m not the only one that’s been having a rough time. I’m really sorry.”

               “You don’t need to be. I… understand what it’s like to lose someone close to you.”

               “You lost someone very close, didn’t you? Back in your clan?” She was surprised by his question, but in a way she’d been expecting it.

               She sighed, “Yes, his name was Tamlen.” Ariadne felt a pain in her heart speaking his name out loud. “He was like a brother to me. We grew up together, fought together, played together; he was my hunting partner when we both came of age. I… had wished we could have been more at the time. Perhaps it was just a childish fancy. I never got to tell him that though.”

               She was quiet for a moment, wondering how to continue her story, knowing that unearthing these memories would hurt either way. Alistair wondered if she was going to continue at all.

               “What happened to him?”

               “I don’t know.” She said, her voice full of sorrow. Not the answer Alistair had been expecting. “The day had been going normally; Tamlen and I were out hunting together as usual when we came across three shems, er, humans trespassing too near our camp. They spoke of some ruin nearby with possible treasure and gave us a small carved relic from it.” She left out the detail that she had shot one as a warning, and a bit of personal pleasure. She hadn’t been without her share of racism at the time.

               “I said it was ridiculous, I’d never seen nor heard of any ruins in the area, but Tamlen always loved an adventure. He had a constant craving for action and excitement and the idea of treasure was just icing on the cake. I told him to forget it, or at least tell the Keeper and get more hunters, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so reckless…”

               Sorrow filled her eyes, a deep sadness more potent than any tears. Alistair could see clearly the pain it caused to recall these memories.

               “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.” He said, finishing the bandages on her stomach and shifting to her thigh. He didn’t like the sorrow these memories brought her and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them out, to hold her delicate frame in his arms and tell her everything would be fine; that he would make it fine. He knew deep within him, however, that this would be the only chance he’d ever get to hear of her past, but if it hurt her, he didn’t care how much he wanted to hear it.

               “No,” Ariadne said, “I started this so I’ll finish it. There was no convincing Tamlen against exploring the ruin, so I followed him like I always did.”

               “Somehow I never imagined you to be the following sort.”

               She chuckled lightly, “You didn’t know Tamlen. He didn’t follow anyone. He would set his mind to something and carry it through whether you were with him or not. What else was I to do but follow? We found the ruins and the further we got in, the more living corpses we found; such as the ones in Redcliffe. It was clear the Veil was weak there and I kept trying to warn him of the danger, but Tamlen saw he could slay the corpses like any living creature. He was convinced we were fine, that it was nothing we couldn’t handle.

               “We reached a wide open room deep within the ruins and encountered an Eluvian, though neither of us knew what that was at the time. He looked into it and… saw things I didn’t, or maybe I couldn’t. Before he could stop himself, it was pulling him in. There was a blast and when I woke up, I was in my Keeper’s tent. It had been several days since they had found me and brought me back and the Keeper had been using her magic to heal me. I barely survived but… they never found Tamlen. Duncan was visiting the clan at the time and he told me there was no way Tamlen could have survived. He had to be dead, but I never searched for his body. I should have searched for him, I should have pulled him away from that mirror or destroyed it before it could get him! Anything!”

               She was beginning to feel hysterical and had to stop to calm herself down, fighting back tears. Alistair had finished changing her bandages and now sat beside her, very carefully wrapping an arm around her small shoulders.

               “It was all my fault. I failed him; I failed my whole clan.”


	5. Reminiscence Under the Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ariadne in a stable condition, she and Alistair have a chance to catch up and exchange perhaps more than a few stories.

               “No, no.” Alistair soothed, “You’re too hard on yourself. There was nothing you could have done.”

               “I could have at least died with him. If I had had any good sense, I would have just stayed with my clan and died.”

               Alistair raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

               She paused, not liking where the conversation had gone, but she didn’t exactly enjoy any of the unearthed memories. “Duncan did not recruit me because of prowess or possible usefulness against the Blight. He did it only to save my life. The blast caused by the corrupted mirror gave me the darkspawn taint. The only cure was the Joining. Duncan was kind enough to allow me to become a Grey Warden to survive. I don’t deserve to be one like you are; I should have just died like Tamlen. I deserve to die. Even now I survive poisoned arrows; my life must be a cruel trick from the Creators. I don’t belong with you all, you deserve better than me.”

               “I can’t believe it.” Alistair said incredulously. Ariadne felt her heart break with his discovery of the truth.

               “I can’t believe after everything you’ve done for us, for Ferelden, and you still think yourself undeserving? You’re right, we don’t deserve you. You are much too good for us.”

               She was avoiding his eyes, but he leaned around her to make eye contact. “You are our leader, Ari. You lead us through the Blight victorious. We would be nothing without you.”

               “But I failed-“

               He interrupted her, “You have failed nothing but your convoluted and impossible expectation of yourself. You must believe me, Ari. You are strong and beautiful and you deserve to live just as much if not more than the rest of us. Please don’t throw yourself away. I… I don’t think I could live without you.”

               Before she had a chance to respond, he leaned in and gently placed a kiss on her lips, slow and sweet, cradling her head as she turned her face up to his.

               When they parted, Alistair began blushing fiercely and she couldn’t hold back a smile. “I, um, if that was too forward, er, I, uh…”

               In response, she leaned her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

               “So it… wasn’t too forward?”

               She grinned, “I don’t know, maybe you should try again and find out.”

               “Well if you insist…” He leaned in to exchange another kiss with the elven Warden as he wrapped an arm around her waist, instinctively pulling her closer to him. Ariadne drew a sharp intake of breath as her wound was disturbed and Alistair pulled back quickly. “Oh Maker, I’m so sorry! I’m hurting you, ugh, I’m such a fool.” He reprimanded himself. Ariadne opened her mouth to reassure him he was fine, but a yawn escaped instead.

               He smiled, “You must be tired. Let’s get you back to bed.” He stood up, “Here, take my shirt for now and I’ll see to getting yours washed.” Crossing his arms in front of him, Alistair pulled his white shirt over his head, revealing a chest toned from years of Templar training and fighting darkspawn. It was etched with the faded and fading lines of old and new scars Ariadne felt herself longing to touch, to trace each one with delicate fingertips. This time it was her turn to blush.

               He gently slid his shirt over her torso. He was not only tall by human standards with a thick and muscular build, but Ariadne’s thin and short elven frame was naturally much smaller than any human. The shirt dwarfed her, hanging loosely from her slender shoulders, the hem far surpassing her waist. She began attempting to stand, but Alistair stopped her.

               “No, don’t even think about trying to stand yourself.” He swooped down and gathered Ariadne in his arms, holding her close to his bare chest. She clung to him instinctively so as not to fall, but she knew Alistair would never allow that to happen.

               They left the washroom and upon sight of Ariadne wearing Alistair’s shirt and held in his arms, Zevran’s lips stretched into a devious smile. “I am impressed, Alistair. You work much faster than I could have ever expected from you.”

               He blushed fiercely, “N-No! It wasn’t like that! I, I mean, we d-didn’t, it’s not like that!”

               Zevran gave a deep chuckle, “Whatever you say my friend.”

               Alistair thought to protest more but knew it was hopeless against Zevran. He laid Ariadne very carefully down on the bed and took his place on a chair next to her. A moment of silence passed between them before Ariadne spoke.

               “Tell me about the Grey Wardens. You know, before I was there. Before the Blight.”

               Alistair smiled; Ariadne didn’t exactly start many conversations unless it was pertaining to the task at hand. To talk of the past with her felt unheard of, and the fact that she chose to instigate the conversation made him feel special in a way; like he was chosen.

               “Why do you ask?”

               She thought about it a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I guess… I miss my home. And I’m not sure if you considered the Grey Wardens home, but by the way you talk about them it seems very… happy.”

               In a way, he enjoy recalling the happy memories, though painfully few, of the other Wardens before Ostagar. “It was. We were all like family since we’d all gone through the Joining at one point or another, and no matter what we did to get there, we all had something in common. Something that affected everyone differently, but in the end it was something we could all bond over, as silly as that sounds. You… miss your clan?” He ventured. It was a stupid question and Alistair already wanted to shove his foot in his mouth. She stared wistfully up at the ceiling, however, a graceful smile spread carefully across her lips.

               “Very much so. In the clan, everything was sacred; the wind, the trees, the animals, the starts, and it all gave us a reason to celebrate life and living. I think I miss the nights the most though.” Her eyes were fixed longingly on an invisible memory far off in the distance.

               “There was singing and dancing; the children would put on plays or sing and the drunken hunters would hop around the fire and drink until they passed out.” She laughed, “There was one time, the night I killed my first beast and became a full hunter, Tamlen got so drunk in his celebration, he danced right into the flames and landed his backside in the bonfire. When he realized he was on fire, he started running around screaming and trying to put himself out while Fenarel and Merrill tried to chase him down. Everyone laughed themselves to tears, even the Keeper.

               “For days he couldn’t sit down from the pain of his burns, but he refused to have even the Keeper wield healing magic on his bum. We made fun of him for weeks.”

               Alistair was laughing, not just because he enjoyed the story, but it brought him more joy to see Ariadne happy. Moments such as this didn’t happen often enough.

               “Sometimes I wonder if things could’ve been different. If I had never gone to those ruins and never became a Grey Warden. I wonder if I would change things if I could, but I would have missed all these experiences, new friends, and… you. I guess when I think about it, I’m almost glad it all happened like it did. I would have missed so much if it hadn’t. And all you humans actually aren’t as terrible as I expected them to be.”

               Alistair raised an eyebrow and gave a half grin; “Now I must know; what did you expect us to be?”

               “Well for one thing, you’re not all the devious and cruel brutes the history of elven slavery makes you out to be. You’re all also rather slow.”

               “Slow?”

               “Well,” she explained, “You’ve heard elves call humans ‘shems’ or ‘shemlen’ yet?” She asked, and he nodded. “Well in Dalish, shemlen means ‘quickling’ or ‘quick child’, but in all honesty, you’re all rather slow.”

               Alistair stared at her for a moment before he burst out laughing. He laughed until tears dotted the corners of his eyes. When he had finished, he asked breathlessly, “Anything else besides our slowness?”

               “Well, of all the strange things about humans, the strangest is by far your cities. In our clans, everyone knows everyone’s name, past, mate, parents, everything. Here in your cities you all live so incredibly close to each other and yet you know nothing of your neighbors. It seems very lonely.”

               Alistair looked throughtful, “You know, I never thought of it that way, but I guess it could be a little lonely, yes.”

               “The Grey Wardens, though, they’re like family; more like my clan. You all go through the same trials, you think of each other as kin.”

               “Don’t forget you’re a Grey Warden too. And I don’t know anyone else quite as deserving of the title. We’re lucky to have you Ari.”

               She smiled her quiet smile, the one that masked even the emotion that shone through her eyes, and Alistair knew that was all he was going to hear of her past, maybe forever. He reached out and stroked her red hair gently. She flinched ever so slightly at his touch at first, but seemed to relax under his careful hand.

               “Alistair?” She asked.

               “Yes? What is it? What do you need?”

               “I just, um, do you think we could leave Orzammar soon? Maybe go back to the Vigil or even just set up camp?” There was a desperate pleading in her eyes though she kept her tone steady. He thought to ask why she’d want to leave and sleep on cold hard ground in a tent than in a warm bed at an in, but the pleading in her eyes made him hold his tongue. It was obvious she didn’t want to be in Orzammar and desperately wanted to go anywhere else but where they were.

               “Well you are the leader. It’s your decision.”

               “Then we leave tomorrow morning.” Ariadne said quietly, her drowsiness beginning to take its toll on her. Alistair continued to stroke her hair as she fell into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.


End file.
